


Like Endless Rain

by issuegirls



Category: Make It or Break It
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-04-08
Updated: 2011-04-08
Packaged: 2017-10-17 18:53:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 728
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/180118
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/issuegirls/pseuds/issuegirls
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The air thickens until she can barely breathe from the weight of it…</p>
            </blockquote>





	Like Endless Rain

**Author's Note:**

> Written, for the most part, just to see if I _could_ actually still write something (vaguely) coherent.

He comes back and she can feel the distance between them as though it’s tangible; a living thing pushing them apart, filling the silence with its pulse and drowning out the words hidden behind her tongue.

It throbs mockingly when their eyes meet and slip away, throbs with its own unspoken words. If she could, she’d reach out; hold it in her fist and squeeze until her palms are crimson wet and dripping with the heart of it.

 

~*~

 

“No,” he says, and, “Again,” and she complies, does everything she can to drown out the thump of sound surrounding them.

She flips across the floor, an Arabian double front he hasn’t choreographed but she throws in anyway out of sheer frustration. His hands are in the air as he tells her to stop and she can almost see his patience wearing out before he loses it altogether and stalks across the mat.

“What was that?” he demands, so close she can almost feel the heat of him against her, burning like a flame licking across her skin. “That was incredibly dangerous. Payson – tell me you haven’t been working on that move on your own. Tell me you’ve been training with one of the assistant coaches. Tell me, Payson.”

His breath stirs her hair. He’s so close she can see the blue of eyes blazing into her, willing her to talk to him, to say _something_. She wants to tell him she’s good enough on her own - he’s taught her that much - wants to say it defiantly and determinedly, as she would’ve done before, but guilt unfurls within her and curls up into her mouth and strangles her speech before it forms. She says nothing and he shakes his head.

“Dangerous and reckless,” he says finally, and his reproach reverberates in her ears, pounding, pounding, pounding like a drum.

  


~*~

  


She practices her arabesque, her développé; concentrates on lengthening every line, every limb until her movements become almost languid with apparent ease. She works with Madam Viola, and then alone at the Rock after hours, focuses so entirely on the flex and flow of her body that she starts when the door slams shut.

Sasha stands at the edge of the floor, his eyes on her, almost unnervingly intense. She tries not to tremble, though her legs are leaden beneath his stare and he nods, once, then moves towards her.

“You’re still not extending fully,” he says, and his hands slide over her arms, trace over muscles that quiver beneath the slow stroke of his fingertips. The air thickens until she can barely breathe from the weight of it, pressing, pressing on her chest until she exhales: low, shuddering, wanting, and he leans forward as though drawn to the sound, to her.

“Sasha,” she whispers, and he pauses, makes as though to step away.

And suddenly, the spaces between the words no longer matter. She raises herself to her toes, slides her hands to his chest, and kisses him. His lips are warm and far from unyielding beneath hers and she takes advantage of his hesitation to slip a little closer, to press her breasts against him. He inhales, and places his hands on her shoulders, her back, and then his lips break from hers.

“Payson,” he says, and his voice is almost a growl, “we shouldn’t-“

But he doesn’t pull away. Not this time.

So she swallows and ignores the throb of noise around them and says, at last, “I should’ve explained, made them understand, or- something. I should’ve at least tried.”

“No,” he says, “it wasn’t for you to do. You’re seventeen and this,” the swirl of his hand encompasses the closeness of their bodies, the heated brush of skin against skin, “this is...”

“Inevitable,” she whispers, realisation dawning slowly, slipping into her like a balm. “Because you left, Sasha. You left, but you came back.”

And his eyes are on hers, bright and hot with every word he need not say and she shivers a little, heat coiling in her belly, and slides her fingertips over his faintly stubbled jaw.

She licks her lips and he groans and then his hand is in her hair and he’s kissing her, kissing her, and all she can feel is his mouth on hers and all she can hear is the steady thrum of his heart, beating against her palm.

 

~end~


End file.
